Half-Blood's Blight
by Ruz Malam
Summary: A tale to usurp all tales; a Khajiit tells one about not only herself; but of her parents, grandparents, and her husband to be. Kaaena Snowflame is no ordinary Khajiit, mind you. And if her tale does not convince you of this matter, then perhaps the skills she acquired from her loved ones will do that task.
1. A Tail's Tale

**Hello! I admit, as writing my first Skyrim fanfic, I have NO clue what I am doing, but I go off my instincts and what I've learned so far. I will have to research further, since games, such as older ones, are not accessible to me. If my lore needs correcting in anyway, please feel free to do so. This took me forever to write and lengthen it yet it still is a short intro! Sorry about that! :D Enjoy!**

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Not everyone might have a unique story to tell about oneself. Especially if day to day living is as constant as the oceans whose tides do not come back. Many view their lives as meaningless and ordinary; spending each and every day doing the same thing over and over until they became ill with monotony. Perhaps selling goods or slaving over a forge isn't exactly the thing most have in mind when they contemplate on life-long duties. They would rather be adventurers or dragon slayers if they were to tell a tale to any passerby anxious for a delicious story. Courageous and audacious hearts alike believe that stories worth telling and listening to are ones that include stealing from a giant camp unnoticed or surviving a Draugr onslaught unscathed; such things needed to be of importance - to be memorable for ages to come. They say that when a story has been told well, the listener shall become as the predator chasing a good sum of time after its prey and never losing its sight of it; stubborn in pursuit of a tale's tail - wanting more to salivate over. The sad truth is that few will listen to the humdrum of a biography of someone whose life never knows excitement. These are the type of folk who find nothing more pleasing than drinking mead each night in front of a firepit, telling countless absurd fables to one another as they laugh joyously and sing loudly. Believe me, a merry heart is no transgression towards anyone, but when your ears would rather shut out a humble life to feed off interesting stories solely because you yourself look for a way to find a virtual escapade in your own do-nothing lives and do not apologize? Such hypocrisy should be punished. Maybe my words are too harsh, hmm? It could so. But I am not testifying that the Khajiit are immaculate by any means; no, by the Twin Moons, just the opposite. On the other hand, though, those, like the Altmer, who believe their race is divine, I say that no race is without a crime commited and ashamed for.

It is no secret that the popular view of the Khajiit are as simple traders or thieves, they see nothing more than a dull lifestyle when they think of the "Cat-Men" from Elsweyr. While it is true that many of us resort to pickpocketing and Skooma smuggling, it is a fallacy that these traits define solely the character of the Khajiit race. It is only by the distrust of the Nords and others that we are treated poorly, that we are thought to be but primitive beast-men. The majority of us excel in in our natural abilities of agility and the necessary sneaking about where others fail. We are the definition of quiet; which can be used wisely in the hands of allies in need. Unfortunately, years of slavery and misguided hatred has caused such vile rumors to become at least partially the truth. But if I must speak upon the behalf of my kind, I shall boldly state that not all, no, not all Khajiit are tricksters, thieves, and pickpockets. We are a simple race looking for a simple living. With that being said, this one is no typical Khajiit that you may encounter on the road. Furthermore, Kaaena's story does not begin with her birth but her parents. Let me begin by speaking about my father, Ghorak the Orc. Already, I am sure, you can tell my tale is not ordinary. And by chance, those of you willing to hear it beyond the itch to hear a tale of adventure, you will find that every life and its events are worth telling.

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**Well, someone had to write about two races mixing; not including the Bretons, so I decided to write about a Khajorc. Unfortunately, I have no real images of this, so the one I got will have to do. A Boskhajorc would have been cool, too, but then she'd look weird, so I stuck with a Khajorc. Originally, I was only going to make her a Khajiit, a special kind, though, but I really like the Orcs a lot so she is the Half-blood :D Anywho, hope you liked this and please stay tuned for more!**

**Next time: See what happened to Kaaena's father! But first, know of her grandparents and their gifts.**


	2. A Warrior's Essence

**Whoa, boy, this was hard but fun to write! I'm getting rather complicated in my story-telling! Even if I know very little lore, I am attempting my best :D Enjoy!**

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**Part 1:**

**Gift of the Hunt**

My father, Ghorak, is an Orc who embodied the might, principles, and valor of his kind. He would have been, perhaps, the most influential Orsimer ever known, but he had a curse unlike any other before. And never again would there be another like him. My father is plagued by three essential Daedra; Malacath, his main deity, Hircine, and Molag Bal. It is likely you may already know why but cannot believe it. I've seen it with my own eyes. But before I explain his curse, I shall explain his mother's and father's life briefly.

My grandparents on my father's side lived on the opposite ends of Orsinium. Both my grandfather, Maggnak who was noted by his knotted beard, and my grandmother, Shara, noted by her knotted ponytail, believed in Malacath but were equally yearning for more power that was beyond Malacath. I do not know if this powerful Daedra was insulted by this or not, but knowing the fate of my grandparents, I can only assume that this was the case. aggnak enjoyed the fruits of hunting with his axe and mace combination and Shara took pleasure more into make skins and creating weapons from the hunting. Of course, do take into consideration that this was before they met.

I cannot recall the date, however, after a glorious hunt, Maggnak encountered several Werewolves in the wild. Attempting to fight the strength of these beasts, he killed one, heavily injured another. The last one, the strongest, being the Alpha, attacked and successfully bit Maggnak and escaped unscathed. In unimaginable amounts of agony, Maggnak had his first Shift. He did not desire to live the way he had become any longer and almost committed suicide, but as legend would have it, Hircine had told him he was gifted with the Hunt, Prowess, and Feral Strength. The thing that completed him inwardly had been fulfilled.

Despite being an Orc now with Lycanthropy, Maggnak was determined to pay homage to both Daedra. Openly sacrificing to Malacath in the presence of his Bloodkin during the day and secretly honoring Hircine with a worthy skin of prey by night. This two-sided life was difficult for him to manage, as he had been almost slaughtered by his own Blood one night during a full moon. Fortunately, his own offspring did not question; as they were too naïve to understand Orsinium traditions as of yet. In the face of exposure of his enigma, he continued to be as loyal as he could to both Malacath and Hircine; ignorant of the wrath he might be punished with later on.

Some months passed since the day Maggnak had been attacked and now wrath that Malacath had been preparing upon his "servant" Maggnak had been boiling over the pot so much so that the entire family Maggnak belonged suffered with him. A mark appeared on his chest after mercilessly destroying his family; a branded mark of shame that spread across his chest. The mark depicted horns like a bull. In light of this tragedy, Maggnak traveled away from his former home and walked many roads without stop. Food, water, rest; his shame laid upon his head like an endless drought - feeding on his starvation and took away what he held dear. His confusion blinded his grief. All he craved for was raw power. Nearing the center of Orsinium at this point, would he meet his beloved-to-be. In advance to their acquaintance, let me first prepare you with the story of my grandmother, Shara.

**Part 2:**

**Gift of Bloodthirst**

Next to tell of is my grandmother, Shara. Abiding on the other end of Orsinium naturally meant that different creatures lurked in this realm. Shara did not have any family to account for; and therefore only counted allies as her family. She and several others, including the Chieftain, accompanied one another on a pursuit to eradicate a nearby group of vampires settled in a cave. Being the Wise-woman of the Stronghold, Shara had her hand in forging. She had been prepared for the onslaught of vampire scum. Unfortunately, what she hadn't prepared for was becoming a sacrifice to Molag Bal. Her Chieftain had been bit and his wife and children had become infect with Sanguinare Vampiris. The others became Thralls. Such a horrible defeat of a mighty Stronghold. In any case, the vampires there held Shara by her limbs, strapping her to a table and made her drink vampire's blood.

Once Shara was fully vampric, she felt plagued with the constant desire to drink blood; like a Sugartooth addicted to Skooma - despite Molag Bal calling it a gift. The sun that she enjoyed on her back during training had developed into a distant and forgotten memory. Like Maggnak, she too, tried to appease both Malacath and Molag Bal. Thus, another mark of shame had fallen upon a follower of Malacath. For this time, it was a coiled serpent-like mark. Upon her chest bared the anger of her Lord Malacath. Unlike Maggnak, she would not be upset at the expense of her branded mark. No, she would embrace her punishment. While Maggnak wished for death, Shara longed for life in the blood she consumed.

Every night, hiding from the sun, she would hunt down a victim and drink the blood in the name of both Daedra. For Shara sake, Malacath understood that it was not her fault that she is a vampire; however, he believed that she could have been stronger and escaped the situation by killing them all but she was too weak. Hence why for many days straight, her diet of bloodshed and conquest for domination was in place for her devotion for both Malacath and Molag Bal.

Feeding on victims and infections upon them piled to her forehead, Shara was exhausted. Approaching the middle of Orsinium, she would hope to find rest, somehow, some way. What she never expected was to find the love of her life. Prepare for the next chapter of my father's conception.

**Part 3:**

**Star-crossed Warriors**

Maggnak sought an end to his suffering and Shara longed to please her Lords; they would soon cross paths. There was a prophecy that an Orc would be conceived after the timeframe of a Crimson sun and a pair of Bloodmoons. The next day after both individuals set off to their respective journeys, the sun had risen red. Shara's bloodthirst had risen higher as the sun's light had not affected her. And that very night, the moons also hued red. Bloodthirst rose likewise for Maggnak. Interestingly, Shara had slept peacefully that night and Maggnak that day. After the eclipses were over, a paranormal shift in time occurred. Both the night and the day were one. The Crimson Sun rose as did the Bloodmoons. The vampire and the lycan were paralyzed, almost in a dream like state, still hunting, still wreaking havoc, still feeding.

It was then when the horizon truly reached midway; the noon of the sky, the horizon flaring with red and other warm colors, that the two met. They attacked each other, both hungry in their rage. A bite here, a swipe of the claws there. For a split second, they lived each other's lives; their destinies intertwined. They felt the others pain. They lived lives as both vampire and Lycan. They saw a life that would become the future if they were to have child. Having seen this, they did not leave this dream-world having both infections intact. Back to normal, they went. And with that, they locked eyes. After the sun began to rise, they knew that this day would be one of change. They spent the entire 24 hours getting to know the other. It was as if they knew each other all their life. A ceremonial Orcish wedding was made. Bloodshed and a fight to unconsciousness, they both were equally, perfectly matched in strength. And with a newborn Orc whelp underway, another legend or two would fall into place of fate.

**Part 4: Curse of the Inner War**

Ghorak looked like any Orc born under a Chieftain; having a ponytail in the hair, likewise with the beard, and long tusks that protruded farther than outward from the chin. However, firstly, Maggnak was not Chieftain, and secondly, Ghorak had some distinctive features that made him suspicious in the eyes of his Stronghold members. To others, he smelled like that of a hound and had red eyes which spoke of hunger, apparently. In any case, he had regular illnesses involving the sun's rays and cravings for hunting during bright moons. His craving for both flesh and blood became more and more dangerous. Ghorak desperately tried to hide these symptoms of his genetic code but unlike his parents who have came to terms with their blessings, he was not all that blessed.

One night, the call of the hunt and the crimson moon proved too much for Ghorak's sanity. He almost murdered the entire Stronghold were it not for his own parents. Despite the other members trusting Maggnak and Shara, they could not put their trust in their child. With heavy hearts both Maggnak and Shara let their offspring loose into the wild. Ghorak was young and did not yet understand what it meant to be an Orc.

As he foraged the land and traveled anywhere he could to survive, he eventually came across vampires who instinctively noted Ghorak's eyes. Despite having the stench of hound on him, they included him into their lives. Ghorak felt welcomed into this new family of blood-drinkers. He went on hunts as he would normally but through his vampire blood. In light of this, his other half was calling out to him. He needed to do more than simply drink blood or any of the sort. He needed to answer the calling of the Moons.

There was one particular night where he had been ordered to go on a quest on his lonesome for the first time. Ghorak had successfully defeated a group of Dawnguard members but had encountered a small pack of Lycans nearby. And at first, they were disgusted but smelled a strong scent of Lycan on him. They wanted him to join them on a hunt, also noticing the growing need to do so. Ghorak thought on this offer. His Master did not want him returning for several days to show that the Dawnguard members close by posed no threat any longer; otherwise, returning home would mean defeat and total retaliation.

Deciding to hunt with the pack, he knew he could use a belly full of flesh for the next few days. Tactfully, he lingered with his new pack mates and avoided too much suspicion for a while; even with the Silver Hand attacking the pack. That is, until his Master and a few others back at the castle appeared there. At first, Ghorak's instinct as a Lycan caused havoc among the two parties, but he saw the face of his Master before laying a claw on him (at which point, he was close to doing so; whilst being atop him, ready to feast on his body). Relenting, he informed the Pack of the identity of the group. His new packmates were less than trusting. With a few hours of explanation to both sides, Ghorak reasoned with them, and proved his worth once and for all that they both had enemies, true rivals, they had to deal with rather than one another.

Though the Vampires thought the Lycans as filth, they listened to Ghorak's plea; as did the Lycans. Ghorak was well aware by now that in normal circumstances, the Lycan and Vampire who cross paths should never acquaint themselves on a friendly basis; nevertheless, the point made that Ghorak was no ordinary individual was clearly understood by all. The six of each group made the first ever alliance between beast and monster. And through the blood of his Orcish ways, he displayed power to them all with his axes and hammer. Indeed, they were all honored to be standing next to such a warrior. While both the Alpha and his Master were in charge of Ghorak, he led both groups under a single unit. The Vampires lived within the halls of the Castle and the Lycans settled outside the Castle and into a cave nearby.

From that point forward, he led a balanced leadership with both groups; until, that is, one female from either side began to fight over him because both wanted him as partner, Ghorak did not appreciate this and when the alliance once again fell, he ran to seek shelter. Stumbling upon a hidden Stronghold filled with both Vampires and Lycans, he settled happily there. However, even in the midst of family, he could not find a lady love (though, seeking refuge within this Stronghold mainly was due to needing to be around Bloodkin more than anything else). One morning, contemplating on hunting and training, there was a disturbance outside the Stronghold. Ghorak would, naturally investigate. The racket outside of the Stronghold was quite normal but the persons which were involved changed Ghorak's life forever.

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**Yay! I finally finished it! lol I probably killed the Khajiit vocabulary though :/**

**Next Time:**


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